The Lonely Ones

Chapter Twenty-Five: Queen Ignit

The uproar in Wren's castle pales compared to that in Thorn Hill. The court is divided. One side made of Queen Ignit's firelets; fae constructed of ash, smoke, and fire. They sit among burnt carcasses, burning furniture, and flames that reach for the briars that don't so much as blacken.

On the opposite side of the room are the fae of the woods, sometimes referred to as greenlings. They tap their talons impatiently, waiting for the call to fight. Some spit sprays of water across the room to snicker when it hits the coarse skin of a firelet. Each side is loud, squabbling with one another.

Words of resentment and indignation are spat, but the walkway remains clear. None dare to cross to the other side without the High King or Queen Ignit's permission. Although that may not always be the case. Only Aurelia and Wren strut down the hallway to the open throne room.

The High King, Emrys, sits atop his throne, better dressed than usual. He wears the Elder crown atop his head; long antlers like that of a deer draped in silver chains, thin as cobwebs. They stretch atop his head like a veil, sparkling white diamonds embedded into the fine thread. Robes of glittering white rest over wide shoulders, slipping to the floor where they spill out like rushing water. The light of the cavern glistens off him, as if he's the sun and moon itself captured atop the throne.

The siblings of seasons' chairs rest on the left side of the room, so Queen Ignit may have a seat on Emrys' right. Her own children take up five chairs on the right of the room. One of which glares at Wren when he enters. A look so fiery it sets fire to his shoulder. He flicks the spark away, returning the glare as intensely back at one of Ignit's sons, Azar. Scars, blacker than the ashen plains themselves, stretch over his once pale skin, leading from his eyes to drip down his neck.

"So it's true, you have awakened," Ignit speaks. Her rough voices carries over the chaos that settles upon hearing her voice. Wren's gaze turns to her, doing his best not to scowl when seeing her.

Ignit sits on a throne made of scorched earth and crackling fire. A dress of searing red barely covers her lithe frame, draping over long legs to burn at the edges. Ignit's black hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, exposing her sculpted features. Cheekbones sharper than blades and eyes blacker than charcoal. They say her lips are stained with blood, forever ruby.

"Queen Ignit." Wren bows when he stands before the thrones. "I've been informed that I've been asleep for nearly four centuries, and yet, you look the same as when you put me to sleep."

"Specifically avoiding saying I'm beautiful but trying to imply it. Your slumber has failed to make you any less vexing," Ignit replies. Wren rises in time to receive her leer. "But alas, as much as I wish to sear that impish grin from your face, it's good to know you've found your weakness."

Wren furrows his brow, perplexed.

"How was your slumber? Have you learned your lesson; to watch who you betray?" Ignit asks, black talons gripping the arms of her throne. Soot drifts to the floor from the pressure on the verge of shattering.

"I've had an eternity of darkness to think long and hard about my choices. I will never make the same mistake twice," Wren answers.

"We'll see about that."

A roar from behind echoes in the chamber. Shouts follow, accompanied by blazing lights of flames and sounds of shattered glass. Ignit laughs. She and Emrys never move from their seats as Wren and the children of both monarchs check the disturbance in the hall.

A brawl has broken out between the firelets and greenlings. Redcaps dig their claws into the guts of a fire troll, painting the walls in his blood. Pixies tear out eyes and rip off wings. A kelpie twists into a grotesque bear to maul an unsuspecting woman. Tables flip through the air, splintering against walls. Chairs are smashed over heads, breaking open skulls so brains spill on the floor.